Spiderman: Business
by oglop
Summary: A alternate dimension Spiderman origin. What do you get when you mix a gangster story with spiderman and add a hint of science. This story. Hope you enjoy it.
1. Chapter 1

**SPIDER-MAN**

**Business Part I**

Capture

"How was business today Mr Sheel?" boomed a low voice from the shadows of the circular room.

"N..n.n..not bad s..s.sir" came the reply from the captured man, bound by handcuffs to a chair in the middle of the circular room, a spotlight blinding him, protecting the identity of his captor. The captive man was in his mid thirties and was in good shape considering the method with which he was captured and thrown into this room. He was stammering falsely, trying to disguise the calm and collected state that years of training had prepared him for. He'd already undone the handcuffs but was holding them in his hands so as not to alert his captor. The only problem was he didn't know where his captor was standing, how big he was, how strong and or even if he had bodyguards. All factors had to be eliminated to secure a safe escape but so far he couldn't see a thing, so he waited.

"Do you know why you're here Mr Shield?" asked the bass voice, purposefully accentuating the word Shield.

Dropping the false nervousness, he stood up and replied almost cockily, "Well, I guess you've finally located your mole," before dropping the handcuffs to the floor, testing what material it was and how thick it was from the clang made but accidentally alerting a sound sensor above him. It blinked red twice before returning to its original state.

A minute of silence passed, nothing moved and his thoughts drifted to his wife. He always thought of her at times like these; times when his life was in jeopardy, and sadly for him, this was pretty often. For 9 years now, he had worked for the American secret government service SHIELD as a mole. He had been trained for over 4 years at a special camp before being assigned to over 25 different companies. He'd never been caught till now, but many a time he'd been found out. He had had to escape skyscrapers and company security more times than there are Mario games. Only, this time, he'd been assigned to one of the biggest companies in New York, Foster, Ingman, Stevens and Kendal Industries. They had a hand in everything that went on this city and his job was to find anything illegal and pass it on to his fellow SHIELD operatives. One of these operatives was his wife Fiona. And at times like these he always thought of her.

His eyes began to adjust to the darkness just as something brushed past him, fast, agile and cold. His pulse roared and his captor began to talk once more.

"No, Mr Sheel or should I say Gargan. I haven't just found you, I have known about you since the day you began to work for me. You see I am the most powerful man in New York. As chairman of Foster, Ingman, Stevens and Kendal industries I have access to information about every citizen of this city, including you. I've been feeding you false information, you've sent the false information to SHIELD and this has caused the deaths of over 100 SHIELD agents including your wife." The way he said this was almost nauseating for Gargan; so calmly, his voice unwavering as he delivered the death toll of his mistake.

"Your b..bluffing" Gargan replied with a genuine stutter, not being able to come to terms with the truth. She couldn't be dead; the missions had all been successes. He had been nominated for promotion. He's lying.

"Why have you not received a letter from your wife in over a fortnight? You were too enthralled in your own success that you failed to check the letters you received from SHIELD. They each contained my stamp! If only you had looked, she wouldn't have died, they wouldn't have died and maybe you wouldn't have died. Your success and cockiness went to your head and cost the lives of others. But your punishment isn't over yet" the deep voice answered.

Realising his mistakes, Gargan controlled his emotions. He had to go out fighting. He had come to terms with his failures and was ready to accept death but his training wouldn't let him. However much his grief made him want to curl up and let his captor end it all, he still strived unconsciously for escape, to waste time, delay his death. "At least let me see the face of my destroyer. Who is the most powerful man in New York?"

"You don't honestly believe that I would give you that honour do you? No, of course you don't, your just trying to prolong the inevitable. Well, it's to no avail Mac Gargan. Your death is already here."

The cold, agile presence dashed out of the shadows, past him again, this time injecting him as it went past. Gargan collapsed and shook violently for a couple of seconds before stopping still, his face, expressionless lying at the foot of the most powerful man in New York.

A minute passed while the captor circled Gargan expecting him from the shadows, before he began to speak again, "I hope he's not dead Stromm."

"No sir, just in a state of comatose as you asked" replied a voice masked by static emanating from a speaker on the extermination robot.

"Good. Fuelled by his grief and equipped with his shield training, he will be a valuable addition to the ranks. Take him away."

"Yes sir," The robot added before picking up Gargan in its six powerful arms and transporting him out of the room through an automatic door.

Electric shutters slowly began to rise and tinted windows appeared allowing the most powerful man in New York his favourite view of the city. As he sipped his favourite drink from his personal bar, celebrating his victory he whispered to himself, "Business was good today, business was good".

There it was again, that black van. There was nothing weird about it, just the usual black transit van. Apart from the tinted windows and the almost cryptic licence plate, "P0WERS 1". Quite an unusual thing to have as a licence plate, Peter thought, usually its "M4RK" or "1AN", simple things like names. Why was it following him, the class nerd, Peter Parker, The one guy who would think to himself "that suspicious black van has an interesting licence plate" instead of "oh no, a black van is following me, run!" He was an outcast in school, orphaned as a young boy, he had dreamed that his parents were super spies and that they would return in a black van to retrieve him and take him off on an adventure with them. But he'd grown up now, he was older and he had to be responsible for Uncle Ben and Aunt May. God knows what'd happen if he went missing and that's what would most likely happen if that van caught hi anyway.

As he turned a corner the van followed. It trailed him for 5 blocks until he stopped and tried to hide in the newsagents but it just did a couple of laps around the block, waiting for him, waiting for the ideal moment. Just after it had turned the corner for the fourth time and Peter had given up hope of it going, he made a run for it, down the back alley next to the shop. It took him quite a distance from his house but at least he'd be away from the van, for a while anyway.

It had followed him everywhere; it had even waited outside school. You had to be pretty determined to wait for over 6 hours outside his school. Let's just say it wasn't in the nicest neighbourhood. He'd been trying to work out who would possibly be following him and go to this much trouble just for him. He'd ruled out relatives as he only had Aunt May and Uncle Ben left. He'd ruled out friends as he only really had one, Harry Osborn. Peter had heard a phrase somewhere that fitted Harry perfectly, "fair-weather friend", but to Peter any type of friend was good, even if it meant extra homework. This left the government some sort of company or kidnappers but it was most likely the latter. What would the government or a company want with Peter Parker?

About 20 minutes later Peter turned the corner to finally reach his house only to stop instantly and dash back around the corner. There was the van again, but this time right outside his house. Who would be that cocky, that they would try and abduct him right outside his own home? A better question, deduced Peter would be, who would go to the trouble to find out where I live just to kidnap me. As her pondered on these questions, he took the only obvious option left, the back door. Through the alley behind his house, he ran hoping that the van hadn't seen him. As soon as he opened the back door he heard a familiar frail old voice.

"Peter? Peter, is that you dear?"

"Yes Aunt May, I'm home," answered Peter in a Fred Flintstone voice receiving a quick chuckle from his uncle Ben before he became a bit more serious.

"What time do you call this?" he asked, turning round in his chair

"Sorry Uncle Ben had to… err… pop in to see Doc Connors about the science project" Peter replied hesitantly trying not to alarm his Uncle but giving away the fact that he'd just mad it up on the spot with the huge gaps in his sentence. He really wasn't very good at this lying stuff.

"Really?" replied Uncle Ben in a disbelieving manner "well, whatever reason you're late, it doesn't matter, you've still got to run down to the shop to pick up some paracetamol for you're Aunt May, she's had a terrible head ache all day."

"Do I have to?" asked Peter dreading having to face the van again

"Yes, Peter, you're aunt isn't feeling well at all, now go get her those tablets" Uncle Ben said as he placed some money in Peter's hand.

"Alright" Peter replied dejectedly as he noticed the van still over the road "See you later."

As Peter pulled on the handle to close the door he felt something prick his skin. Looking at his hand, he noticed a tiny mark and a tiny, silvery spider crawling along his finger. Almost instinctively he shook his arm flinging the spider onto the ground. Peter was almost sure he saw sparks coming off it as it slid along the ground before it picked itself up and continued to meander down the path. Peter followed it down the path but left it at the end and turned in the direction of the shops. As he turned he almost fell, a quick nauseating feeling arose inside him, he began to feel dizzy, groggy but shrugged it off and continued, taking slow steps until he reached the corner, where he just collapsed, weakly repeating the word "spider".

No sooner had Peter fallen to the ground than 3 people jumped out of the black van. One was wearing a white lab coat and looked quite intelligent, almost intellectual in fact although almost eccentric with his rough, rugged brown hair whereas the other two were grunts, big, bald men wearing black suits who promptly lifted Peter onto a stretcher in the back of the van. The man in the white lab coat quickly whispered "Project Arachnid, Phase 1 complete. Business is good today sir, very good"

"Good Stromm, don't let me keep you from your work" replied a familiar deep voice from the radio; the voice of the most powerful man in New York.


	2. Chapter 2

**SPIDER-MAN**

**Business Part II**

Experiments

"Smythe! What are you doing up there?" a voice shouted up from the floor of the testing warehouse. It was Dr Farley Stillwell, a genetic engineering specialist, who had made some of the greatest breakthroughs of the decade. He had been offered a rather large amount of money to come and work for Foster, Ingman, Stevens and Kendal Industries where he had been promised a huge lab that made his basement lab at home seem like it was made of Lego. The chance to work in such a great environment and with some of the greatest scientific minds on the planet was too much for him to turn down and so he had gladly accepted. What he was working on had far exceeded his wildest dreams.

All the testing so far for Project Arachnid had been a massive success and now that the two human test subjects had been found and detained he just had to assemble his team for the final stage. His team included Alistaire Smythe, a chemical weapons designer who had been paralysed from his waist down in a terrible accident at his home some years ago. The explosion had killed his parents and destroyed his life's work in the adjoined lab. The final member of his team was Dr Mendel Stromm who was a robotics expert and had created some very advanced AI software as well as co-creating, with Smythe, the worst-case-scenario defence robots for this experiment itself, the aptly named "Spider-Slayers".

"Smythe! Smythe?" he repeated, starting to fret about the physical and mental health of his fellow scientist at this critical time in the experiment. He had noticed that Smythe had been subject to terrible headaches and was almost always locked up in his lab, only leaving it during the night. His fears were soon found to be misplaced as Alistaire Smythe strolled down the steps from his lab, merely rubbing the temples of his head.

"Headache" he shouted still rubbing his temples. But it wasn't really a headache, it was something much more dangerous, another side affect of the explosion at his father's lab all those years ago. Alistair began to think back, memories re-emerged, memories of his father, of the lab and of the tiny breakthroughs they had made. His father had been a chemical weapons designer for the US army years ago. He had been responsible for the success of many SHIELD operations but his weapons had also gained a large death toll, which weighed heavily on the mind of Spencer Smythe.

Yet for all his scientific successes and the death that his weapons had caused, he was almost obsessed with life. He had originally trained as a surgeon but had been led by a friend to the occult, the mystical, magic. He had eventually met the famous Dr Steven Strange who was a man close to his heart. Strange had just returned from watching the Apollo 11 mission take off when he first met him. Strange himself had once been a medical doctor yet had become obsessed with the magical arts. Spencer's favourite "fairy tale" that the Doctor would tell him, was that of the philosophers' stone and it's bearers' immortality. This was the one item that would tear him away from anything he was working on. Rumours about its whereabouts had lost him his job with SHIELD 6 years before his death and during this time of unemployment he had become very depressed. He was out of work and had to return to his tiny lab at the side of his house.

By this time Alistaire has followed in his Father's footsteps gaining acclaim in the field of chemical engineering was ready to help his father in his hunt for the philosophers stone and immortality. There was a rumour that it had been taken to the moon and even if it hadn't, Dr Spencer Smythe would never reach immortality. He destroyed his house, himself, his wife and wheelchair-bound his only son as he accidentally detonated a prototype vaporiser bomb. This was when Alistaire was offered the chance to work here and in his need for a lab to continue his studies, he gladly accepted. He needed to find a cure to his problem and this lab had all the equipment he would need to do it.

Alistaire and Spencer Smythe, after hearing that the philosopher's stone was on the moon, began to think of other routes to immortality. One however was deemed too dangerous after being tested on a tramp as it had severe side affects. They were close to improving upon the serum when the explosion occurred and the serum was destroyed.

"Now where's Stromm?" Dr Stillwell muttered to himself as he searched the room for him.

"Right here, Farley. Shall we begin?" Stromm asked as he worked his way around the operating table from behind Stillwell.

"Yes, I think so. Process began at 10:14." Smythe added before they began their work on the unconscious form of Ex-SHIELD agent Mac Gargan.

"Peter!"

"Uncle Ben?" Peter groaned from his sprawled position in his bed, cover wrapped around him like a straight jacket.

"You must have been really thrashing about last night to end up like that" Ben Parker chuckled as he slipped through the doorway into Peter's room. "What were you dreaming about?"

"There was a black van… and a spider… project arachnid. I was going to get Aunt May her paracetamol and a little spider bit me. I passed out just down the street. I'm sure of it" Peter mumbled trying to make sense of it all.

"No Peter, you went to the shop and bought the paracetamol just as I asked, we watched that cheesy Clint Eastwood movie later remember? Then you went up to bed and pretty much passed out on your bed. I haven't seen you that deeply asleep for a very long time."

Peter struggled to decipher the real memories from the fake ones, but in the end neither made sense. He didn't remember anything after collapsing on the sidewalk last night yet Uncle Ben said that they watched a movie last night and that Aunt May got her paracetamol. He just had to give in to Uncle Ben this time, his head was all over the place and he couldn't concentrate. "Oh yeah Uncle Ben, Dirty Harry wasn't it, with his 44." Peter falsely chuckled hoping that his assumption was right.

"There you go, I knew you'd remember. Must be still half asleep, eh? Well, when your fully awake, make sure you come down and get some breakfast. I think May's doing a fry up this morning." With this Uncle Ben slipped back out of Peter's room leaving him with his thoughts.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling as he tried again to separate the real memories from the false ones but as he watched the ceiling it began to ripple and shake. Peter had to roll over to stop himself throwing up. He'd been staring at the nauseating affect unconsciously for about a minute and really wasn't feeling too well yet as he looked at the ceiling once more, it was perfectly normal. No ripple effect, just the circle pattern that aged to back before he lived here. IMust be my mind playing tricks/I thought Peter as he threw on his dressing gown and meandered groggily down the stairs following the tempting smell of bacon.

"Stromm? How goes Project Arachnid?" asked calmly the bass voice.

"Mac Gargan is adjusting very well to both his increased strength and his extra appendage. The acid solution that Smythe created works remarkably well with my mechanical stinger. Stillwell's serum has made it very easy for him to adjust to the tail, as it is now part of his instinct. Project Arachnid is a huge success sir." Dr Stromm replied through his radio brimming with excitement and confidence.

"And what of Parker?"

"Nothing yet sir. We are beginning to fear that the serum didn't breach his immune system. Quentin Beck is watching over him though and should any change occur you will be notified immediately sir." Stromm replied this time slightly more agitated at the lack of success in this part of the project.

"Make sure it doesn't fail Stromm. You will be held responsible. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir" muttered Stromm weakly.

"Good, now return to your work. Two supers will not be enough," the most powerful man in New York ordered as he looked out once again at his favourite view of the city.


	3. Chapter 3

Spider-man

Business Part III

Powers

Peter sat in his armchair going over his memories of the night before. From what he thought he actually remembered he had been bitten by a spider outside his house while going to collect some paracetamol for his Aunt May. He'd collapsed at the end of the road due to what he believed was a side affect of the spider bite and two men in black suits had put him in a van. He'd awoken twice after that, hearing only glimpses of conversations but he remembered distinctly "too bad Smythe couldn't make this one. It must be pretty serious anyway; I just hope he'll be able to watch the other one. Hey, he's waking up…" You don't forget something like that and Smythe was quite an unusual name so this helped even more. Peter deduced that he'd then been drugged again but he didn't have a clue what had really happened that night.

Maybe it was all a bad dream and he had actually collected the paracetamol and the watched that Clint Eastwood movie with his Uncle Ben that night. As Peter was thinking his Uncle walked in and sat in his usual place. Still trying to understand what had happened that night Peter asked something had been bugging him all through breakfast.

"So why didn't you go and get the paracetamol last night Uncle Ben?"

"Oh, I wasn't feeling too good either, although I couldn't tell your Aunt May that" Ben Parker replied with a quick chuckle "she'd only worry herself into feeling even worse, you know how much she fusses."

"I sure do, remember that time when I caught chicken pox. You'd think the doctor had given me only days to live," Peter answered jokingly, "You know what, that was the best week of my life."

Ben watched him as he lolled back, staring at the ceiling in mock ecstasy as he remembered the luxuries his Aunt had given him that week. Peter was almost seventeen now but was still quite a small, gangly lad who wore glasses and enjoyed school, the nerd personified some would say, if they knew what it meant. Sadly for Peter, being a nerd wasn't a good thing. From his broken glasses to his hand me down clothes, he might as well have carried round a sign that said "I'm a nerd, hit me." However, the one good thing about being a nerd is the intelligence that comes with it. Ben had often seen Peter sneak past the jocks after school in some very impressive ways although he doubted they would have noticed him anyway, with him being so much smaller than them. As Ben drifted back from his memories and into the real world he watched a disturbing site. Peter was doubled up over the side of his chair vomiting violently. He couldn't see Peter throwing up as peter had his back turned to him so he didn't feel as nauseated as he usually did at times like these.

Between bursts of vomiting Ben made out two words, "ripple and "ceiling". Confused as to what these meant he just ignored them for now and ran off to find a bucket and alert Aunt May. They rushed back to find the room empty except for a pile of thick white liquid in the shape of a spiral at the side of Peter's chair.

From the diary of Spencer Smythe

June 17th

All projects are going well, I have been fired from SHIELD and I have invested money in a small company in the middle of the city, which specialises in developing new cleaning materials. Nobody will know my real plans for this insignificant company but phase 1 is almost complete. The business is already evolving and growing with a helping hand from some dummy companies. Its value is growing and I'm finding it gradually easier to bring in new, talented men for the future of the company. I have kept my son's mind busy on a replacement for the philosopher's stone. His mind is sharp so I must force him to put all his energies into this idea in case he notices what I'm doing. The hunt has begun for test subjects

August 29th

I don't believe it. Alistaire has cracked the formula. All these years, I lied to him about my interest in the occult and the philosophers stone and now he gives me a near perfect opportunity. My son has delivered to me the gift of immortality. This will make latter phases a lot easier to fulfil.

September 2nd

The immortality serum had some interesting side effects making it almost useless to me. I have made a copy of Alistaire's notes for future use and I have let him continue work on it in an attempt to correct it. The failed subject is locked in the basement being watched for any more side effects. It could well become a danger to society if let loose. A canister of the serum has also been replicated and is being stored in my safe.

December 12th

All plans are coming to fruition. Phase 3 is complete, Alistaire is still working on the serum but he is failing to correct it. The bomb is placed. Nobody will survive; I even planted a body to represent me. My only regret is that I couldn't take Alistaire with me, but he can be replaced.

An Extract from the Daily Bugle

CHEMICAL ACCIDENT KILLS PARENTS, SON SURVIVES

Yesterday evening a freak accident occurred at the house of Spencer and Mary Smythe. Spencer Smythe the famous ex-chemical weapon designer for SHIELD and the US army had lived in the house for over 20 years and now as he was becoming more desperate for a way to feed his family a chemically triggered cluster bomb was accidentally set off in his basement lab. Evidence was found that someone had tried to shut down the lab to protect the family but they were too slow. Mary and Spencer Smythe were found at the base of the stairs and some 300 metres away in the surrounding forest, their only son Alistaire was found unscathed. The police don't know how the bomb was set off or how Alistaire made it 300 metres away and was unscathed. The doctors checking Alistaire over replied to all of our questions with "No Comment". Our sympathies go out to the friends and family of Spencer and Mary Smythe.

"How's Parker been this morning Beck?"

"Success Dr Stromm, the first signs of some sort of change. Early this morning he vomited what looked like web. He then climbed up onto the ceiling and sat in the corner while his Aunt and Uncle searched for him." A black haired scientist transmitted through a radio while watching Peter through his view screen. "Now he's sitting outside on his garden wall and thinking by the looks of it"

"Wonderful news Beck, I'll inform "him" A.S.A.P," replied Stromm before returning to watching Gargan being prepped by Dr Stillwell

Peter had been sitting on his garden wall for over 2 hours now trying to get to grips with what had happened this morning. He had been staring at the ceiling again when it had begun to ripple again. He'd become very nauseated very quickly and had dived over the side of his armchair and thrown up this weird sticky white stuff. But the white stuff wasn't what was bothering him anymore; it was the fact that no-one else felt nauseated by the rippling ceiling and the fact that the ceiling was rippling in the first place.

During all the time he'd been sitting here thinking he'd sneezed the weird white stuff four times and had thrown up twice. There was a nice pile of white ooze growing under his feet but surprisingly again this wasn't what he found strange. No one had walked down the street, no cars had driven down the street and Peter couldn't hear any body or any cars in the distance. He had knocked at several houses in the road but at every one had been answered with nothing. No one was anywhere near here except his Aunt, his Uncle and him.

Peter sat here for the next hour deliberating the circumstances before returning indoors to see his Aunt and Uncle.

"Is he ready yet Stillwell?" Dr Stromm asked impatiently.

"Yes, he's ready now, you better call Smythe, he'll want to see his acid in action"

"Smythe where the hell are you?" Stromm immediately muttered into his radio.

"I'll be… there…in a… minute. Arghhh!" came the reply from Smythe's radio in an otherworldly voice followed by a cry of pain.

"Smythe? Smythe? Someone get to his lab, he needs help." Stromm ordered to the lad assistants surrounding him and Dr Stillwell.

"It's okay Stromm, I'm here now," came Smythes voice containing none of it's etherealness from over Stromm's shoulder as the assistants began to rush off to the lab. "Just another of my headaches."

"Sounded like one heck of a headache Alistaire, you had us all worried." He stated while motioning for the assistants to come back. "How did you get here so fast anyway?"

"I was only in lab 4, just a quick jog to get here"

"Really…" Stromm answered disbelievingly knowing that he had answered with the radio in his office. "Anyway, we're just about to test Gargan. Farley if you would."

At his signal Dr Stillwell lowered Mac Gargan on a harness into a large pit. The harness was automatically unbuckled pulling a tube from his arm and waking him up. He began to move around, swishing his tail as he went, side stepping in what seemed like a random fashion but as Stillwell pressed a button on the dashboard the monitor showed the fictional world he was walking round in.

"Release the Slayers" Stromm ordered the computer.

In the corner of the screen the three sleek silver robots entered the pit and the fictional world. Gargan turned instantly almost instinctively releasing a burst of acid from his tail burning a hole in the first bot's chest plate. The remaining two bots circled him trying to use their melee upgrades like the chainsaw hand pieces but Gargan deflected them with his tail easily. One of the bots flipped the saw to the shotgun attachment but before it could finish changing attachments Gargan had sliced right through the bot with the spike on his tail. The other bot however succeeded in switching to the shotgun and fired two shells. The shell's fell to the floor in pieces and where they had hit him his skin had become black and scaly.

"My god, when did we make that?" Smythe exclaimed.

"We didn't," Stillwell replied, "It's an unforeseen side effect. His skin seems to have become the scale like armour of the scorpion to protect his body from harm. He's evolving already."

Gargan quickly disposed of the last bot, grabbing it by one of its legs and its head, holding it above his head and slicing it in half with the power of his tail.

Stillwell pressed another button on the dashboard and he collapsed on the ground.

"Good thing I installed a sedative chip in his brain before we administered the serum. I mean a tranquilliser dart isn't exactly going to work is it" Stillwell chuckled.

As Peter arrived inside the house, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end, he knew something was wrong and he knew what. Somehow, he knew that someone else was in the room with him. His eyes were deceiving him, he saw no one yet he "knew" that someone was there, watching him. He looked around the room searching for the intruder and his eyes finally landed on the ceiling. Again it began to ripple and Peter had to run outside where he lent on a nearby lamp-post with the palm of his right hand while he threw up the strange white fluid again.

After a large pile had been excreted at his feet he stood up straight again but as he tried to pull his hand from the lamppost it wouldn't let go. He was stuck to it. He pulled harder and the lamppost began to give. It was coming out of the ground. Peter relaxed and in a moment of instinct he pulled the metal post from the ground and held it over his shoulder like a baseball bat. He struck out at where he "felt" his intruder was and saw a strange ripple at the end of the post fly into an invisible wall in the middle of the street and slump at the bottom.

Peter tried to shake the lamp off his hand as if it were merely a toy. The slumped form hissed, crackled and showed itself for what it really was. It flickered into appearance showing a man in a white lab coat with a gas mask lying next to him. He was crumpled up on the floor eyes closed with blood dripping from his nose. The lamppost dropped from Peter's hand as he rushed over to the man and found on his coat thousands of tiny cameras.

He picked up the gas mask and placed it around his mouth. He picked up the lamppost and prepared himself for what he knew was coming. Gunfire, from all directions.


	4. Chapter 4

**SPIDER-MAN**

**Business Part IV**

**Escape**

He couldn't see them, he could feel them; somehow he knew where they were coming from. Peter contorted his body inhumanly as hundreds of small darts flew past him. They weren't trying to kill him; they were trying to capture him. In a brief moment between a roll and ducking under a passing dart, Peter spun hitting out with the lamppost that was attached to his hand. A scream of agony quickly followed by a thud was heard as one of the attackers was knocked into another disguised wall behind the Watson's house across the street. As he followed through the strike, he felt the lamp scrape against a ceiling above him. A small black box fell and smashed on the ground next to him and the ceiling was shown for it's real self. A large dark metallic square that was once disguised by the projector that lay at Peter's feet as a clear blue Forest Hills sky.

What is this place? Peter asks himself while dodging another two darts. He could feel the projectors above him creating the fake world and disguising his enemies, he could feel a circular room and three people in it directly above him overseeing all and he could feel the men congregating around him, gathering silently into a circle and edging slowly forward. They had now stopped shooting, which had at first confused Peter, but now he had felt them tightening around them he understood. He continued to smash away at the projectors above him leaving small black boxes in a sporadic pattern in the middle of the artificial road.

The men had now stopped moving. They were loading their guns, prepping the darts and taking aim. Peter's instincts took hold and he bent his knees slightly waiting for them to pull the triggers. He dropped the lamppost and fretted falsely to lure in his attackers. He couldn't hear them and he couldn't smell them and had to rely on his instinct and his new sense to know when. They fired. And he jumped forward, diving over one of the men towards the unconscious black mound at the bottom of the wall. With one more bound he had reached the wall itself and had positioned himself floating in what seemed like mid air. He was attached to the wall.

As his instinct took full control he continued to climb, looking for the answers to the millions of questions that were running though his head. As he reached the top he leapt to the middle of the room smashing through the one-way mirror window into the control room. Inside this tiny room wasn't disguised and there were two men in white lab coats and one dressed in a long green overall. The two white-attired men dived towards him hoping to push him out of the window, but Peter's instinct knew this even before they did and he quickly grabbed them each by the hair knocking their heads together leaving them both crumpled on the floor.

"Very impressive Parker" came the voice from the green clothed man. He had jet-black hair and a look of authority. In his expression was also a hint of pride, as though he had achieved something.

"Where am I? Who are you? What is this place?" Peter mumbled still shocked from the attack that had just occurred. Trying to get the answers he so desperately needed he began to move closer to the man.

"You don't need to know any of that. You need only know that you're a success. You've just made many a man very proud of his work" replied the black haired man. Peter could feel him preparing a needle behind his back and was expecting him to attack. The man lunged at him but Peter grabbed his arm and twisted it around behind his back making him drop the needle. He released his grip and the man fell back across the room. He nudged a button slyly on the control board and his skin seemed to suddenly go paler. He dived at Peter again this time trying to knock him off balance so he could administer the needle. Peter went to grab him by the neck but felt him drift through his hand. A familiar tingling in his head told him of an incoming punch from behind. His instincts took over again as he almost unconsciously back flipped over the man dodging the blow. He grabbed him by the waist and threw him out of the control room where he landed silently.

Peter collapsed to the floor; his knees had given way to the confusion of his mind and the burden of his heart. He began to sob, surrounded by 6 shiny metallic walls in a regular hexagon shape, embellished with computer desks on each bar one, which contained a door. As he regained control of his feelings he began to study his surroundings. The computer systems were very basic from what he could tell and with just a couple of buttons pressed he had turned off the projectors that were located around the large vacant room. As he looked out through the now empty window he saw a large dull warehouse with four wooden houses sturdily built, two on each side of the road. In the middle of the warehouse were over 30 unconscious men in black full-body suits and gas masks, three of them were slumped against the walls of the building bleeding from their mouths and noses, the rest were strewn across the middle of the room each with a small dart protruding from their body. They had shot each other as he had made his way to the control room. Next to him laid two me in white lab coats but he could see no sign of the man in the green suit.

After more pressing of buttons a hissing noise was halted and gas was stopped from venting into the room. After a quick search of the hard-drive Peter found the notes of Quentin Beck describing the aim of this project and another describing the gas used in the warehouse.

From the notes of Quentin Beck

Finally my perfect world is to be put to the test. He has given the order that one of his test subjects is to be monitored here at warehouse 7. We have surveyed the subjects' house and made an exact replica from hard wood in the warehouse as well as 3 other houses in the local vicinity. The projectors have been set up so the image will cover all features of the warehouse and the ventilation system has been tested. I was almost fooled by my own contraption. There are several faulty projectors, but _he_ needn't know about that. They randomly ripple and create quite a nauseating effect for whoever is watching them. The guards are on standby and my two assistants have been extremely helpful. The subject has just arrived.

Latest Illusion Gas Test Results

Entry by Quentin Beck

The latest test has had remarkable results. Not only does the gas dull all the sense except sight but when paired with familiar visuals it has very interesting extra effects. In an early test this morning with the projectors and gas the subject complained of a failure in the drug. He could still smell. But someone quickly pointed out that he couldn't smell the warehouse in which he was standing in but the Garlic hanging in the corner of his illusion kitchen. With the other sense dulled the brain seems to rely very heavily on sight. Even to the extent that if the subject sees something familiar the brain artificially creates the smell, the noise, the taste and even the texture of the items. The illusion world project is now ready for use.

After reading through several of the other files he could find nothing about who had ordered Beck to put him in the illusion world or who supplied Beck with the gas so he strolled through the door and down a set of spiralling metal stairs. He stumbled outside into the real world. The sunlight beamed down upon him and he felt the sea breeze brush past him. After basking in the sunlight for what seemed like hours, Peter began to stroll down the familiar roads that would eventually take him home, his "real" home.

"Evening Ben"

"Hey Matt, What can I do for ya'?" replied Ben Urich, from behind his desk at the Daily Bugle. "I hope it's something important because I have got a lot of stories to check up on"

"It's important. Teenager went missing last week outside his house in Queens. His Aunt and Uncle are customers of mine. I found a metal spider on the ground a couple of meters away from where he fell. It contained a tranquilizer serum and was marked with this logo." With this Matt Murdock passed a blown up version of the logo over to Urich.

"FISK?" Urich mumbled to himself trying to remember where he knew that name from.

Having not seen the picture before, Matt's head began to buzz. Questions flew around inside his head. What would Wilson Fisk want with Peter Parker? Where did Fisk get the robot spider?

"Oh, Wilson Fisk. The mob boss, right? You guys have some sort of history don't ya, how come you didn't recognise his logo?" Urich asked completely confused.

With a quick gesture to his eyes, Matt Murdock turned, smoothly extending his cane and tapping both sides of the arched doorframe before he left.

"Oh yeah, blind guy" Urich mumbled before jumping out of his seat as J. Jonah Jameson stormed into his office.

"Peter! Peter Parker!" a voice shouted from the doorway of a small house.

"Doc Connors?" Peter replied, recognising the voice of his favourite teacher. He'd known Curt Connors for many years and as well as being in his science classes he had often stayed behind after school to help him with all sorts of other projects including Dr Connors pet project, a regeneration serum.

"Peter, thank god you alive. Where've you been?" Curt Connors asked hastily, shocked, holding Peter's shoulder with his arm, looking him straight in the eye.

"I… don't remember. If it's alright with you sir, I'd just like to get back to my Aunt and Uncle.

With this, Peter watched a grown man break down and cry. He fell to his knees and began to sob, holding his face in his hands. "Why did it have to be like this?" he said between sobs.

Kneeling down next to him Peter tried to work out what he meant. In his hand he was holding a newspaper, which he passed to Peter. "Read page 8" he added, looking up, tears pouring down his face.

Peter quickly skimmed through the paper desperate to find out what had caused DR Connors to become like this. Finding the page in the tear stained copy of the Daily Bugle, Peter instantly dropped the newspaper to the floor and sprinted towards his house leaving Doctor Connors sobbing on the floor staring at a picture of an elderly couple followed by the tragic story of their death

Extract from a special evening edition of the Daily Bugle

LOCAL ELDERLY COUPLE MURDERED

Ben and May Parker were last night murdered while asleep. There was no sign of a break-in proving that the murderer had a key. No fingerprints were left and the cause of death was "by lethal injection".

This most strange case started when the couple reported their teenage nephew, Peter missing. The next morning their next-door neighbour and good friend, the widowed Mrs Watson, found them and called for an ambulance. The paramedics announced them both dead and found a large dose of a potentially lethal chemical in their blood.

Captain Stacy of the police gave a statement today: "This is a tragic day for the Parker family, a family torn apart by death, and now destroyed. Peter Parker is now the last of the Parker's and we urge the public of New York City to come forward if you know anything of the whereabouts of Peter Parker or the killer of his Aunt and Uncle, May and Ben."

Our thoughts go out to the friends of the deceased and to Peter Parker who we all wish for a safe return.

"Stromm? Where the hell are you?" Quentin Beck shouted over the never-ending landscape of desks.

"I'm here Beck. What do you need?" came Stromms' quick reply from near a deep pit.

"I just came to tell you, your little lab rat, Parker, just escaped" Beck informed spitefully. "You never told me he would be able to climb the walls! He clambered his way up into our control room after taking out all the security men. He then escaped my attempt to sedate him. I had to fake my death again to get the news to you"

"He can climb the walls? Miraculous, must tell Stillwell." Stromm mumbled, shuffling his way over to his desk. "Here take this" he said passing a cheque to Beck. "We'll call if we need you again"

"Thanks" Beck added before placing the cheque in his top left pocket and heading for the exit.

Darting around the final corner, Peter came to a complete stop, staring at what was once his house. Blue and white tape was wrapped around the entire residence, two police cars were parked in the front and the four police were standing in the front garden. One of them stood out in particular, he was wearing a dark brown over coat and was smoking a cigarette casually.

Peter shakily wandered up to the house and stood at the end of the path with the tape blocking his way.

"Are you looking for something son?" the man in the brown coat asked, while looking over Peter, noticing his extremely pale complexion, his mucky clothes and the speed at which his legs were wobbling.

"I live here" Peter replied, letting his legs give up as he collapsed to the floor.

"You what?" the detective replied before realising who he was. "Peter Parker? I'm Captain Stacy. I guess you already know what happened." Dejectedly he ducked under tape barrier and lifted Peter up, helping him to reach the police car where he sat him on the passenger seat with his legs left to shake outside the car.

"Who did this?" Peter asked the first thing that came into his mind.

"We don't know son. I'm sorry. We'll find out though, we'll get them. Come down to the station with me, get away from here. I'll grab you a coffee, see if we can calm you down."

With that Peter lifted his legs inside the car and shut the door, while Captain Stacy motioned for the other men to wait outside the house and then jumped into the car and began the long drive to the station.

"Urich!" Jameson shouted as he entered the office.

"Yes Jonah, what do you need?" Urich replied, significantly quieter but with a hint of anger.

"How are you doing with those articles?" Jonah pulled out his signature cigar and lit up.

"Well the special on Max Dillon is coming along nicely and those vampire reports are turning out to be very interesting. Could be a great story"

"Not those articles, I mean the important ones" Jonah replied eagerly awaiting a chance to brag.

"Here you go" Ben said while passing a piece of paper to Jonah titled "HEROIC ASTRONAUT RETURNS SAFELY"

"Fantastic Urich. My son" he said pointing at the man in the centre of the photo.

"Yes Jonah, as if I didn't know" Urich replied tiredly. He'd heard this routine before.

"Now get on with those other articles I asked you for!" Jonah ordered before stampeding back out of the office as quickly as he had arrived.

"Hello Peter"

"Hey Mr Murdock" Peter replied from a chair in a small grey room down the corridor from Captain Stacy's office. He took a sip from his coffee before offering one to Matt.

"No thanks Peter. You seem to be coping with this very well Peter. You Aunt told me once that when your mother and father died you didn't cry until you reached home. You need to go home. Empty out all your grief." Matt said while sitting down on the chair across the table from Peter.

"She told you that?" Peter asked, sniffling at the memory of his Aunt.

"She told me all sorts of stories, about you, about your uncle. She also left me in charge of you, if anything should happen to her. I know this isn't something you want to talk about but as a friend Peter, let me help you. I know you gave Captain Stacy a statement before about where you were. I've read it. He doesn't believe you. I do. I've been there before. I know who this Beck character is and luckily for you I know that a man named Wilson Fisk has something to do with this all. When you feel like talking about him, either come to my office, or go over to the Daily Bugle and ask for Ben Urich. He's a good friend of mine; he'll look after you. We'll get who-ever did this to you."

"Thanks for your concern Mr Murdock but there's one question that keeps running through my mind. You said before about going home and grieving. I can't go home anymore. I can't go back there."

"That's okay Peter, I've already found someone who will take you in, until we find somewhere permanent for you. His name is Steven Smith. He's a bit of a scientist and a nice man. You'll like him." With that he passed Peter a piece of paper containing Mr Smith's address and left the room quickly, without warning.

"Thanks Mr… Murdock" Peter replied hoping that he had heard it. He sipped his coffee again, waiting for the return of Captain Stacy.

"Stillwell? Smythe?" Stromm asked into the radio, hoping to alert his colleagues to the crisis at hand.

"Yes Stromm" came the reply from both radios.

"Get down here immediately, both of you. _He_ doesn't know yet, we've still got time." Stromm ordered them.

"Time to do what?" asked Smythe.

"Parker's escaped. We need to prep the slayers"


	5. Chapter 5

**SPIDER-MAN**

**Business Part V**

**Adoption**

"Peter. Peter!" came an aged voice. A person was shaking Peter; he could feel the firm grip of a hand on his arm.

"Uncle Ben?" Peter asked groggily, not being able to recognise the face due to the blinding light of the rising sun that was streaming into his eyes.

"Peter, wake up." The now familiar face of Captain Stacy came into view, as the car once again turned right down another empty street. "We're almost there."

Shuffling up from his slouching position, Peter rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched his legs in the passenger seat of Captain Stacy's quite spacious car. "Almost where?" he asked, still half asleep.

"Your temporary home, the modest home of Steven Smith, as arranged by your good friend Mr Murdock. Nice guy." Captain Stacy's head bumped the roof of the car as the passed over a speed bump. He was a pretty tall man, and even though he was getting on a bit, still had a commanding presence. His almost grey hair was covered in a baseball cap and his trademark long, brown coat was lying, spread out across the back seats. A cigarette in his mouth, a gaunt look in his eyes and stubble on his chin showed that this had not just been a long night for Peter. "I'm sorry about this taking so long Peter. I really wanted to get you here earlier but the adoption laws, even for temporary ones involve a fair bit of paperwork. And it didn't help that your statement was a bit…well… strange. You're quite lucky really. I mean, if you were 16 you would have had to find somewhere on your own, but as your still a minor, we have to help you out. That's one law that's actually been a help tonight"

"What time is it?" Peter asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from laws and statements.

Swiftly looking at his watch, Stacy replied "9:34. Luckily you got a fair bit of sleep up at the station, so you shouldn't be too tired eh? Gives you some time to get to know Mr Smith."

"Yeah," Peter replied less than enthusiastically, still shattered from last nights' constant questioning, signing of legal documents. He was not at all looking forward to meeting this Mr. Smith.

The car pulled up to a small grey house. Peter and Captain Stacy were sitting in complete silence, only broken by the rhythmic intake of Stacy's cigarette. He tossed it out of his window as he spotted a middle-aged man bounding down the stone steps to meet them. Although his hair and wrinkled face were tell tale signs of his age, his posture and the spring in his step spoke of a great youth hidden inside the aging shell. As he came closer to the car, his features became more apparent and Peter noted the long thin face, relatively small nose and dark almost square glasses. It was as if he was looking at an older version of himself. _I guess all scientists really do look the same_ Peter thought as he stepped out of the car and shook Mr Smiths hand.

"Hello Peter," he said while nodding to Captain Stacy who returned the nod before opening the trunk of the car and retrieving a familiar bag. Peter had used this bag all those years ago, when Aunt May and Uncle Ben had adopted him. Memories rushed back to him of his first week at their home, some happy, some sad, but all showing the kindness of the two people who took him in and raised him to be what he had become. The two people who he had only yesterday, lost forever.

"I had two of my men grab some stuff for you. It's not much, but it should tide you over until we've finished looking over your house." While saying this Captain Stacy had sat himself down in the drivers' seat of his car and turned on the engine. "I'll see you in a couple of days" he added before driving away down the street.

"Come on in Peter. Now, I know you probably don't feel like talking and I'm going to let you rush off to your new room as long as you promise me that we'll have a long talk later." A quick nod from Peter and Mr Smith continued. "From what I've heard, you're pretty good at science and if that's true then I'm sure you'll find your room very well equipped." With this he ushered him upstairs saying "It's the first door on your left. I've got some extra stuff in the basement if you need it but I'm sure you'll be fine with what I've left you. Just shout down if you need anything, and please whatever you do, don't call me Mr Smith, Steve will be fine. Mr Smith makes me feel old." With a quick smile he darted off around the corner into what Peter guessed was the living room.

At the top of the staircase, Peter turned left and pushed open the door with his left hand to see a large bed, a large window and on the far wall, three shelves each filled with tiny glass bottles. _Chemicals_ Peter thought to himself, _I love this place already_. Sitting on his new bed, Peter began to empty his bag onto the floor, each item bringing back hundreds of memories. His thoughts drifted to his Aunt and Uncle and he began to sob. In the silence of his room, he could grieve, alone, uninterrupted. He left the world behind and began to relieve his life, every memory. Pulling the cover over his curled up body he cried himself into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Slouched against a small brick building, Ben Urich was doodling mindlessly on a scrap of paper. This was his 6th piece; his clipboard was quickly losing paper while his pockets were quickly losing space. Jonah had dragged him out into the middle of nowhere to get an interview with his incredibly _interesting_ son and his equally _interesting_ co-pilot Max Dillon. They had safely returned from a mission to the moon only yesterday and desperate to show off his famous son, Jonah had arranged for this special edition of the Bugle to be devoted to the mission.

"Urich! Get over here, John's coming" boomed the voice of J. Jonah Jameson, editor of the Daily Bugle.

Pushing off his wall, Urich briskly walked over to John Jameson and Max Dillon and began asking questions.

For each question he asked, John had the perfect answer. It was as if he'd rehearsed them, they were so perfect. Dillon however just stood next to him. Throughout all the questions the only movement he made was to step from one foot to another and to rummage about in his pockets. At one point Ben thought he was stroking something but Dillon caught his line of sight and stopped still causing Urich to return his concentration to John Jamesons' tediously long answers.

In Urichs' research about Max Dillon for the special edition story, he had found some very interesting facts. When he was only 6 years old he had been struck by lightning, and survived, totally unharmed. Doctors had put it down to pure luck but many superstitious people had believed his safety was because of his lineage. He was supposedly a direct descendent of Faraday. This was of course just rumour but it would seem that Dillon had created quite a name for himself when he was younger, his obsession with electricity was well known in the town that he grew up in.

Ben was listening to Jamesons' final answer, dying for it to finish when he spotted what Dillon had been fumbling in his pocket. It was a small clear, oval shaped rock. It had a slight mist affect in the centre yet still seemed perfectly clear. Dillon again spotted Urich watching him and quickly stuffed it back into his pocket.

"Thank you for your answers Mr Jameson. I think your father would like a word with you" Urich said, pointing at an ecstatic J. Jonah Jameson, gesturing his son to come over. Urich was very interested in speaking to Dillon on his own but when he turned around to talk to him, he had already walked over to Jonah alongside John. Annoyed that he had not found out the identity of the stone he began to walk back to his car. The questions were all over and Urich could return to real stories now, ones the public are going to actually be interested in. Before he reached his car a familiar voice shouted from a just arriving taxi.

"Ben, wait. Something's come up, I need you to check something out for me" Matt Murdock shouted with a sense of desperation in his voice.

_Finally, something interesting _Ben thought to himself as he ran over to the taxi, intrigued by what Matt had in store for him.

"Ah Peter, I see your feeling better" said Mr Smith as Peter strolled down the stairs and into the living room.

"Yeah much better" replied Peter, reliving the endless hours of grieving, the solitary remembrances. His stomach began to grumble and his now gaunt face showed the hunger that was now desperate to be ended.

"I see your hungry," replied Mr Smith with a quick wink before scrambling off to the kitchen. Following this came the quick, sharp sounds of a knife slicing through vegetables. Mr Smith re-emerged from the kitchen a couple of minutes later carrying quite a large chicken club sandwich to find Peter resting in an armchair. "One I prepared earlier" he added with a smile before sitting himself down in the armchair opposite Peter.

"Thanks," came the quick reply from Peter before he began munching the huge sandwich. "How did you know I loved chicken sandwiches?" Peter asked between bites.

"I knew your Aunt and Uncle." Peter's face dropped slightly at the mention of his deceased foster parents. "I also knew your father. I've known you for a very long time yet you obviously don't recognise me. I'm your godfather Peter. Before Richard died, he entrusted me to watch over you, and so I did, but not openly. I really had wanted to adopt you all those years ago, but as Richard had not put our arrangement on paper this was not to be. You were however put in the loving hands of Ben and May Parker, who proved to be very adequate foster parents. You of course had your name changed after the _accident _happened. I often visited your Aunt May and Uncle Ben while you were attending school to make sure that you were all right. I have also met many times with Mr Murdock, your Aunt and Uncles legal advisor. I'm sure you've met him, he arranged for you to live here and finally meet me."

At the mention of his long dead father, Peter's face had drooped even lower, still grieving for the death of someone that he had hardly known. Yet at the realisation that this mysterious man had known both his parents and foster parents, his expression perked. He could finally find out what his real parents were like, he could talk honestly about his Aunt and Uncle knowing that the person sitting opposite him, knew them just as well as he did. He also felt more comfortable that his father had trusted this man to watch over him.

"Did May and Ben ever tell you your real name?" A swift shake of the head answered his question. "No, I guess it's just a thing of the past now isn't it, best not to bring it up."

Finishing his sandwich, Peter laid the plate down on the small table in front of him and asked Mr Smith "What did happen to my parents? Really?"

"Ben and May never told you that either? They were killed, some sort of chemical explosion the police said. But your father was way too careful to leave chemicals unattended for the length of time needed to create an explosion that dangerous. No, their death was no accident. A rival company had approached your parents two weeks before they died to come and work for them. This company had quite a reputation as someone that you didn't turn down, but knowing what kind of work that company did your father turned them down. A man was spotted fleeing from your house on the night of the explosion but he was sadly never captured. We can only thank god that you were at a babysitters that night. That's another mystery of the whole occasion, why on that night did they send you to a babysitter? Who knows, I certainly don't."

Enthralled in Mr Smiths recounting of the circumstances of his parents death, he almost didn't realise that he had stopped talking. "Well that's enough reminiscing for one day I think," Smith added before waddling off to the kitchen once more.

"Are you sure he's escaped? I thought Beck was watching over him," asked Dr Farley Stillwell. He was quite shocked as the illusion tests had all been very successful.

"Beck came to see me. He wasn't too happy, it seems that Parker can climb walls. A very interesting side affect. The web doesn't seem to have gone too well though. He's definitely creating it but at the moment it's of no use to us. I've checked with _him_ and he's given us permission to release the slayers. It is now our top priority to capture him."

"Very well," Stillwell answered while tapping several buttons on the dashboard in front of him. Three new slayers emerged into the pit below. Stromm began to enter their updated behaviour and mission protocols while Stillwell opened the hatch at the far end of the pit. With one final push of a button, the slayers darted through the hatch in search of their prey. "I hope Parker doesn't have a protective layer like Gargan. We didn't have Smythe working on him; he didn't have the opportunity to install one of those sedative chips."

"Have faith in the slayers Farley, Smythe wasn't needed to create Parker, he won't be needed to capture him." With this Stromm returned to his desk but Stillwell remained pondering on why Smythe had not been involved in the creation of Parker. Remembering to ask Stromm this at a later date, he also left his post at the edge of the pit and returned to his desk.

"Peter!" Mr Smith shouted up the stairs.

"Yeah?" came a swift reply followed by Peter almost gliding down the steps, landing next to his new foster parent. Red marks could be seen under his eyes and tearstains were obvious on his shirt but his expression showed none of the grief that had been there only seconds before.

"It's your teacher, Dr Connors he said his name was. He phoned before to ask if he could visit, said there was something he needed to ask you about. He should be here any minute, why don't you take a seat or maybe freshen up a little. I thought it best to give you some time. First impressions and all that, you know what they say." With this he followed his usual routine of visiting the kitchen giving Peter a chance on his own to decide on what he was going to do.

10 minutes later, a knock on the door signalled Dr Connors arrival. Rushing to the door, a much cleaner and slightly happier Peter, welcomed his biology teacher.

"Hi Pete, how are ya'?" Dr Connors had become a friend to Peter, one of the few to ever care for him. Peter had been wondering what he had wanted to talk about and had come to the conclusion that it must be about him missing school. The school has sent Dr Connors because he knew Peter best. It could be about the serum though Peter thought before replying to Dr Connors question.

"I'm not bad… Could be better, obviously." Peter briefly remembered Aunt May and Uncle Ben bringing a hint of sadness to his face. He quickly blinked back the tears from his eyes and blanked the expression of grief from his face as he had become so used to doing.

"I'm sorry Peter…" Connors replied trying to hold in his own grief.

Quickly changing the subject Peter asked the question that had been dying to ask. "Steve said you had something you wanted to ask me about," Peter quickly pointed to the darting figure of Mr Smith, answering the confused expression on Doc Connors face.

"I got an e-mail from that Foster, Ingman, Stevens and Kendall, the company who are funding our research. Their head scientist, Dr Farley Stillwell made a bit of a breakthrough a couple of months ago and he thought that our serum would benefit greatly from his findings. He sent me his notes in the e-mail and a note saying that they were doubling our funding. I think I can finish the serum. Finish it Peter! Finally I'll be able to get my arm back!"

"Dr Connors that's great. When are you gonna' test it? I want to be there, to see it working," Peter face was now beaming, a complete change from the gaunt expression he had been wearing for the past two days.

"Well, I checked with the school about you coming back, but because of your loss they've pretty much expelled you until they believe that you're mentally healthy enough to come back to school. The school has some sort of mentor who decides this stuff. I'm sorry Peter, but I can't wait, Stillwell has set us a date when we have to send him our results by or their going to pull our funding. I'm sorry Peter."

Peter's expression plummeted. All the work he had put in and now some "mentor" was going to stop him seeing the results. Peter couldn't concentrate for the rest of the conversation. His anger had taken a hold on his brain and was throwing it around inside his skull, finding the tiny part named hope and beating it to a pulp. Once Dr Connors had left, repeating his apologies over and over on his way to the door, Peter rushed upstairs to his solitary grief once more.

Rolling up the familiar steel ramp to his office, Alistaire Smythe sipped idly at his coffee. Entering his password on the small keyboard next to the door, he rolled through the transparent sliding door and stopped at the centre of his desk oblivious to the pale man standing behind him.

"Hello Alistaire. My how you've grown, since last I saw you."

A look of horror swept Smythes' face as he heard a voice that he knew all too well. Spinning his chair, he came face to face with the ghostly creature he and his father had created only years earlier, the failed attempt at an immortality serum. Although as Smythe inspected the man who stood before him, he realised that the serum had by no means failed. The tramp that they had captured years ago looked not a day older than when they first met. Less could be said about Smythe however who had raced through puberty leaving him with a very old looking face.

"I thought it would be a nice surprise if I dropped in to see you. I mean we always were such good friends." He spoke with such malice in his voice that Smythe began to tremble. Smythe blinked and the man had disappeared.

Appearing behind him, the man bent over Smythes' shoulder and whispered into his ear, "I know what has been affecting you. I know why you have the headaches. I know why you look so old. I know how you can stop it all. But do you want to know?"

Smythe turned round to face him once again only to find his office empty. Empty except for a scrap of paper on his desk.

"Peter! Peter!" came the slightly agitated voice of Steve from the base of the stairs.

"What's up?" Peter asked, frantically dashing down the steps.

"Did Dr Connors mention anybody else coming to visit?"

"No, why?" Peter asked. He was quickly become confused at the ramblings of Mr Smith.

"Well it would seem that, three men are walking up the steps to the house."

"Who on earth could…?" Peter asked but before he could finish the question, the door had flown off its hinges and landed on top of Mr Smith with a gruesome crack. Three sleek silver humanoids rolled over the threshold of the house scanning the area. Finally resting their sights on Peter, they raised their arms showing the shotgun placements on each hand.

"Holy…!" Peter exclaimed as three shells sliced their path through the air towards him.

Swiftly dodging the three deadly missiles, Peter landed on his knees inches from the wall. Believing Peter to be injured the robots split their ranks. Two of them approached Peter while the other turned its sight to the unconscious form of Mr Smith. Raising its shotgun, it took aim. And fired.


End file.
